Dark and Damaged: Eight Tortured Heroes of Paranormal Romance: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set (5 page)

“It was Remy,” Nadine said, beaming. “He was looking for something. These are his things.”

“You stuffed Remy’s things up here in the attic?” Bree looked at her mother in surprise. After Remy’s death, Nadine and Bree had been very careful with anything he’d ever touched. When they’d moved into this two-bedroom house, Nadine had fitted out the closet between the bedrooms with shelves and neatly placed the things they’d kept in it—photos, T-shirts, letters, Remy’s uniforms, trinkets that had been special to him. Paperwork was in a strongbox.

“No, I didn’t,” Nadine said, scowling. “Do you think I would? Don’t you see?
He
must have brought them here.”

“Mom.” Bree folded her arms. She was still swaying from Seamus touching her with the gentlest hands. She’d not been able to resist touching him in return—his side, then his chest, feeling solid muscle dusted with golden hair, his heart beating beneath his bones.

Her mother insisting that Remy’s ghost was up here, come back to see them for whatever reason, wasn’t helping Bree regain her equilibrium. The fact that Seamus waited quietly as she and her mother played out the drama, silent and upright like a sentinel, didn’t help either.

“It wasn’t Remy,” Bree said in a hard voice. “He’s gone.”

Nadine was unfazed. “Who was it then? Of course Remy would want his things.”

Bree started to answer then broke off. She knew her mother was still grieving, as Bree was. Not long after Remy’s death, Nadine had gone to a psychic near their little town in Louisiana, a woman who’d taken her money to let her receive messages from Remy on the other side.

When Bree—and the police—had proved the woman a fraud, Nadine hadn’t been angry with the psychic. Talking to Remy had comforted her, she’d said. Just because that psychic had been bogus didn’t mean the supernatural didn’t exist. And anyway, didn’t Bree have a thing for people who could turn into animals?

Bree had conceded the point, but even so, tried to discourage her from believing Remy was trying to communicate with them. She wondered if her mom had put these things up here, to build the fiction that Remy was looking out for them. Perhaps she’d “prove” it and feel better.

But Remy was gone, as much as Bree hated to keep saying it. They needed to learn to accept it, and move on. Maybe then the pain would lessen—though Bree doubted it.

Seamus came out of his silent stance and moved toward the boxes, looking like a fertility god of old with his well-muscled, bare torso, even with the bandages. Nadine started, as though she’d forgotten he was with them.

“Do you want me to take the things downstairs?” Seamus offered. His voice was quiet, understanding.

Nadine blinked, her eyes wet. Then she frowned and put on her usual no-nonsense expression, which she did when she needed to pull herself back to the present. “You can’t be lifting boxes after you’ve been shot.” She looked him up and down. “Though you seem a lot better. I guess Shifters really do heal fast.” She shook her head. “No. Let’s straighten up but leave everything here. I’m sure Remy put it here for a reason. If he comes back, maybe he’ll tell me why.”

Bree exchanged a glance with Seamus, who gave her the slightest shake of head. It was an interesting day—or night—when a wild Shifter without a Collar who’d kidnapped Bree and was now hiding out with her made more sense than Bree’s messed-up life.

“We can straighten it out tomorrow, Mom,” Bree said, trying to sound soothing. “I’ll make some tea, and then we’ll go back to bed.”

Seamus had already started lifting the strewn papers and books and setting them neatly back into the boxes. Nadine must be tired, because she let him.

“Good idea,” Nadine said, sounding weary. “A nice herbal tea, maybe with a little shot, so I’ll sleep nice and cozy.”

Seamus finished and went down the ladder first. He didn’t use every rung; his lithe body moved quickly downward, sliding the last yard with his bare feet on either side of the ladder. He betrayed no awareness of his nimbleness—he was comfortable with his body, not showing off.

He held the ladder as first Nadine then Bree descended. Seamus put his hands on Bree’s waist to lift her down the last few feet, his grip strong. Bree leaned into him, as she had when he’d touched her so tenderly, before her mother had interrupted. She hadn’t mistaken the need in his eyes then, and she didn’t mistake it now.

Seamus’s hands compressed the slightest bit on her sides, a hidden caress. Bree drew a breath, trying not to like that so much.

Seamus released her and turned away to carry the ladder downstairs. Bree watched his tight back, which was crisscrossed with scars, as he went down, hoisting the ladder as though it weighed nothing.

Nadine snapped off the attic light. “Bree.”

Bree jerked her gaze from Seamus as he disappeared through the door to the garage, where the ladder was stored. “What?”

“He’s good looking.” Nadine appeared wrung out, but her voice was as steely as ever. “He’s sexy without knowing it, and you’re lonely. But he’s Shifter, and there’s something wrong with him, more than just the fact that he doesn’t have one of those Collars. He seems different from the other Shifters I’ve seen, and not only because of the Collar thing.”

“I know.” Bree sighed. “All that. I know.”

Nadine put a hand Bree’s shoulder. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt, honey. You’ve done enough hurting for three women your age. In the morning, Seamus will want to move on. You let him go.”

Bree shivered in her thin nightshirt, in spite of her mother’s warm touch, but she knew Nadine was right. Seamus had needed help tonight, he’d chosen Bree to help him, and then he’d leave. He couldn’t risk being caught without a Collar.

Seamus came in from the garage. Nadine went on down the stairs past him to the kitchen, and Bree quickly followed her. She didn’t trust herself alone with Seamus, so she was right behind her mother as they entered the kitchen for their soothing cups of spiked tea.

***

When Seamus awoke in the morning, back on the couch and tangled in sheets, the tabby cat was lying on his ankles.

It always amazed him, Seamus thought as he carefully sat up and stroked the blinking cat between its ears, how heavy very small cats could be.

The cat yawned, stretched, poked its needle claws through the sheet, and kneaded Seamus’s bare leg. He’d taken off the jeans this time, lying down to sleep after he’d cleaned up the best the bandages would let him in the tub upstairs.

Seamus pried the cat up, detaching it from the sheet, and cradled it against his chest. The cat, knowing a sucker when she saw one, purred and soaked up the petting.

It was early, around five thirty, Seamus judged from the gray light. It was autumn, November, and the sun wouldn’t be up for a little bit yet. No one stirred above—Seamus had the feeling that Nadine and Bree weren’t women who shot out of bed at the crack of dawn.

He looked forward to seeing Bree stumbling down the stairs, mussed from her sleep, giving him her lopsided smile.

Strange, Seamus had all his life feared and even hated humans. They were physically weaker than Shifters and yet had manipulated themselves to have mastery of this world. Their animal strength had been replaced by cunning, which in the long run had proved the more capable trait for them. If you knew exactly how fast to run and precisely where to hide from the stronger, stupider predators, you could outlast them.

This cat had the same kind of cunning. Her ancestors had been quick and resourceful, and had discovered that being adorably cute had its benefits. A dangerous Shifter who could have made short work of this cat was now cuddling it, protecting it, making it feel good.

The cat suddenly lifted her head, her claws coming out to bury themselves in Seamus’s muscular arm. He tensed but didn’t drop her or toss her away.

An animal coming alert meant something Seamus couldn’t ignore. His own senses prickled.

Seamus very carefully set the cat on the floor then raised his head, parted the sheer curtain of the living room window, and peered out.

The house was surrounded by Shifters.

Seamus very slowly eased back down to the sofa and reached for the clean, whole, olive-green T-shirt Nadine had brought him—belonging to her son, he understood. Seamus slid it on and then his jeans. He didn’t bother with his boots, because if he had to shift and fight, boots would only get in the way.

He didn’t recognize the Shifters out there, but he knew who they must be. How they’d tracked him here, Seamus didn’t know, but Collared Shifters were crafty, like the humans he’d just been thinking of.

Seamus needed to be just as crafty himself. He had to get away from the Shifters but also not allow them to follow him to those he was protecting.
Keep them safe. That is the mission
.

Dressed, he quietly made for the front door and crouched against the wall beside it. He couldn’t fight them all, but he could lead them astray and then find a way to slip around them and make his escape. Maybe. Getting away from Shifters wasn’t as easy as evading trigger-happy humans.

The Shifters outside were deathly silent. They only had to wait it out, and they knew it.

From somewhere above him, a window scraped open. A second later, Nadine yelled, “Get off my property, all of you, or eat lead!”

Shite
. Seamus was across the room and up the stairs in an instant, going on all fours to keep his head down.

He nearly slammed into Bree on the landing. She was indeed mussed and warm from sleep, her hair tousled, her eyes bleary. “What the hell is going on?” she asked in confusion. “Mom, what are you
doing
?”

Nadine, in a robe, her bleached hair sticking out every which way, was standing at her bedroom window overlooking the front of the house, shotgun in hand.

“I’m about to shoot some Shifters who’ve decided to camp out on my lawn.” Nadine said testily. “You all back off!” she called down to them. “All the way to the street. Or I call the cops.”

None of the Shifters moved. Nadine lifted the shotgun, sighted, and pulled the trigger.

The
boom
of the gun rocketed through Seamus’s senses. Bree screamed and clapped her hands over her ears. The cat, who’d followed them, streaked from this bedroom and into Bree’s.

Outside, there was shouting, a couple of the Shifters boiling apart from where Nadine had aimed. She hadn’t hit any, Seamus saw from a quick glance. She’d shot at the ground, a warning.

Seamus positioned the mirror on Nadine’s dresser so that he could see out the window without any of the Shifters below being able to see him. He counted four in front of the house. Probably the same number were in back, with more out of sight on the perimeter. That’s how he would have positioned his trackers.

Seamus knew who the leader was, the one who stepped forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. Not surrender—this Shifter didn’t know the meaning of the word.

“I know you have a Shifter in there,” the man said, his rumbling voice carrying. The hint of Irish accent was clear. “Send him out, and we go home. We have no wish to harm you.”

Seamus had never met Dylan Morrissey, but he knew a lot about him. All Shifters did. The man used to be leader of the Austin Shiftertown. When his son took over, Dylan became more of an overseer, roaming the Shifter territories in South Texas, making sure all Shifters kept in line. Rogue and feral Shifters were to be rounded up, brought in, Collared, and processed. Dylan and his trackers did a lot of that.

Dylan had been instrumental in shutting down the bunker that had housed Kendrick and his Shifters. He’d destroyed it and left Kendrick’s Shifters in the wind. Dark anger spiraled inside him.

“You’re still on my property,” Nadine shouted down. “Now get the hell off it. Want me to have you rounded up and caged?”

Dylan didn’t move. He was flanked by a man with a sword—a Guardian. Probably his son, Sean Morrissey, the Guardian of the Austin Shiftertown.

The very large Shifter standing behind the two of them had to be a bear. Only bears had that much bulk. The fourth was tall and hard, with tattoos all over him, his head shaved.

Trackers, Seamus surmised, and tough ones. The bear would be stronger than all of them put together but not as fast. The Morrisseys were lions, like Seamus—he’d be more or less evenly matched against each of them individually, though Dylan had a rep of never being beaten.

Seamus wasn’t sure about the tatt guy. Feline by the look of him, but Seamus couldn’t tell what kind of cat he was. If something like cheetah, then the guy could outrun Seamus but probably not outfight him. The guy looked like he could hold his own, however. He radiated self-assurance.

A fifth Shifter walked around the house to join them. He was big like the bear, but with close-cut black hair, tatts, and an attitude that could only be Lupine.

Dylan tried again. “I know you have a Shifter in there. We can scent him. Send him out, and we’ll be gone.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nadine said. “You get off my property,
then
we’ll talk.”

Dylan made a minute signal to the trackers. Nadine and Bree wouldn’t catch it, but Seamus recognized the body language. It was,
Find a way in and take him
.

Seamus turned from the mirror, though he remained out of sight of the windows. “I’ll go down,” he said quietly to Nadine and Bree. “I don’t want them to hurt you.” Not that he planned to submit without a fight. He’d go, but they’d have to catch him.

Seamus suited action to word, without waiting for response, heading for the stairs.

A soft body brushed by, and then Bree was in front of him, blocking his way. “Like hell you’re giving yourself up.” Bree scowled, blue eyes glittering with anger. “They might be Shifters, but they don’t look like they want to hand you a beer and welcome you with open arms.”

Seamus put his hand on her shoulder.
Damn, damn, damn
. He shouldn’t have done that—one touch, and he didn’t want to let go. He wanted to stay here, sink into Bree’s softness, let her make his troubles melt away. Or at least give him the illusion that his troubles no longer existed. Let him float in pure bliss.